


and the blind will see

by Myrime



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Arguing, Dorks in Love, Getting Together, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Steve Makes Him See Nonetheless, Team as Family, Tony is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: “Every time you go do something harebrained,” Steve talks right over the roaring of Tony’s mind running wild, just on the tip of throwing himself into a panic, “I think this is it and I’ve missed my chance.”“Your chance to do what?” Tony asks, growing desperate in his confusion. “You don’t even like me.”- Tony gets hurt on a mission and Steve, predictably, comes to yell at him. Rather less predictable is how right kissing each other feels.





	and the blind will see

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something happy, so let's ignore that this has probably been written a hundred times already. I just wanted those two to stop yelling at each other for a moment. (No, why would I be bitter still about Civil War?)  
> Enjoy!

The mission was a close call.  Tony would never admit that to his fellow Avengers, much less Steve, but he feels it with every fibre of his hurting body. He can barely stand still as JARVIS helps him take off the suit, wincing every time metal presses against a scratch or strain. His ears too will not stop ringing and he is tired enough to blame that on Steve’s yelling instead of the explosion he so barely escaped.

He has had no choice really. His sensors had picked up on civilians in a building about to come down and he was the only one close enough and fast enough to get them out. So what if the whole thing crumbled around him? He got everyone to safety and he built the suit to take a beating. Also, the Hulk is enough of a guard dog to have sniffed him out and dug him up. No harm done. Only that their illustrious team leader does not see it the same way, naturally.

After storing the suit, Tony goes to take a quick shower, too short to do much about his screaming muscles but long enough to get rid of the blood and dirt. He has no time to dawdle. These days they can never be sure when the next call comes for them to go out and fight the villain of the day, and without a functioning suit he is useless to the team. There is no way he can let that happen, not when they slowly begin to fit together, living here not as a group of individuals anymore but becoming a team.

When he returns to the workshop, however, Steve is already waiting for him outside, not in his uniform anymore but with all the anger from the battle still stitched into his expression.

“Nope,” Tony says before Steve can open his mouth, “no more yelling. You’ve said your piece.”

Jaws clenched, Steve musters him angrily, eyes flitting over Tony’s body in a way that has him wanting to swirl around, showing that he is not yet broken. “You clearly haven’t understood it, yet,” he then grounds out.

Were he anyone else, Tony would stay clear of Steve in this mood. As it is, he is unimpressed by the mountain of muscles, crossed arms and a perfectly dark scowl, and pushes right past Steve. He has no illusion that he can get the workshop door closed quick enough to shut Steve out, but he is still slightly disappointed when Steve follows after him immediately.

“Honestly, Tony,” Steve says, wasting no time at all, “you have to stop doing this.”

For a brief moment, Tony wonders whether he can get away with ordering JARVIS to turn up some music, preferably something very loud, but he knows Steve a bit by now. All that will earn him is the hurt puppy face and endless disappointment. Plus, of course, the team’s bad temper because no one likes a moody Captain America.

“Stop doing what?” He asks instead, taking his time to walk over to the nearest desk so he can lean against it without drawing too much attention to how tired he is. “Shall I quit? Do you want to take my suit away too? Send me back to SI where I can’t get on your nerves anymore?” He turns to face Steve, wearing a smirk like he is not afraid that, one day, the answer will be _yes_.

That day has thankfully not yet come, for Steve lowers his eyes and shakes his head decisively. “That’s not what I mean.”

“It sure sounds like it. Out there we’re all just doing our job.”

Just like that, the Captain’s anger is back, directed at Tony with burning intensity. “It wasn’t your job to go into that building.”

“So I did more than I had to,” Tony counters flippantly, rolling his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re complaining about. Shows I’m dedicated, yes?”

And he truly does not know. Yes, Steve likes his orders being followed, demands to know where everyone is at any time during a fight, pushes for consistent communication. Needless to say that Tony is not very good at that, but he _is_ good at everything else. At being Iron Man, at recognizing opportunities and seizing them. As of yet it has always turned out well.

“So, are we good then? Perfect,” Tony says, not giving Steve a chance to continue the argument. He is tired and hurting, and while he did not go into that building to be praised, he would prefer not being yelled at either.

“We are not good,” Steve all but growls, looking like he can barely keep himself from reaching out and shaking some sense into Tony. It could be amusing, but Tony has become used to having a little too much success in getting a rise out of Steve, so he is beginning to tire of watching him all flustered and righteous. “Not everything can be made to go away by jokes and your devil may care attitude.”

“Calm down, Cap –”

“Don’t call me that,” Steve snaps, as if he could ever be mistaken for anyone else with the way he stands in Tony’s workshop: tall and blonde, shoulders straight, blue eyes bordering on furious, and lips pressed into a thin line. One might think it is a far shot from those smiling, patriotic war posters, but this is the only Captain America that Tony has ever interacted with.

“But that’s what this is all about, yes?” Tony argues, sounding almost reasonable. “You _are_ the Captain, our leader. What you say goes. And if I decide to use my own head you get angry.”

“Because you don’t use your head,” Steve’s voice breaks in a way that suggests he would like to shout but holds back. “You just go and do what you want.”

“I hate to inform you, but I can’t _stop_ thinking.” Becoming bored with their always circular arguments, Tony picks up a screwdriver from his desk, twirling it absentmindedly in his hand. But because he can never stop poking, he adds, “In fact, I do so a lot faster than all of you combined. Not Brucie, perhaps, but birdbrain? Certainly.”

As far as distractions go, this one was not too bad, because Steve shuts his mouth with an audible click, glaring at Tony, before he bites out, “Can you stop already with lording your supposed genius over us?”

 _Yes_ , Tony thinks, _let us talk about my countless character flaws. You always get fed up with that so fast that I might have a chance of getting some work done today after all._

“Now I’m a genius again?” He smirks, deliberately dropping the ‘supposed’; they both know it is not true anyway. “You need to make up your mind.”

“I never said you’re not smart.” Steve deflates a little, not willing to back down but taking a moment to breathe. “But building battle suits is different than knowing enough strategy to win a fight.”

Definitely nowhere near backing down. Tony almost sighs but stops himself since it would be bad form. Time for Plan B, he guesses: Logic.

“I’m up in the air,” Tony says, letting go of his fake air of nonchalance. If Steve needs earnestness, he will give it to him, if only to get this over and done with. “I see more than you do, and I do calculations faster than you do. You might be good at strategy, but parameters change all the time. And if I see that happen, I react.”

Steve nods along with him, expression one of an avid listener, but then he squares his jaw and they have not gotten one bit farther. “No,” he says in the tone of someone refusing to be called wrong, “you tell me about it and I tell you what to do.”

“And waste precious time?” Tony drawls, then continues in a fake concerned voice, growing harder with each word, “Oh, Cap, that building is about to collapse in approximately 7.2 seconds, shall I go in and try to stabilize it or wait for you to decide that same damn thing?”

At that, Steve watches him in something like wonder, which does nothing but irritate Tony. “I wouldn’t send you into a building about to collapse.”

“See,” Tony shoots back, somehow feeling that he is missing Steve’s point here, “then it’s a good thing that I don’t wait for your orders. Because, guess what,” he shrugs like he has not enough blood on his hands to feel that he can never wash it off, “that might have saved lives.”

“And could have cost yours,” Steve snaps, looking at anything but Tony.

Silence falls abruptly, only interrupted by their somewhat heavy breathing, which would have been more appropriate had they actually fought each other here instead of just shouting and sending glares. Only that every encounter with Steve ends as a fight of some sort. Tony thinks he would be more grieved by that had he expected anything else.

“And why, pray tell,” he says, almost wincing at how ugly his voice sounds, “would you care?”

Blue eyes bear into Tony as Steve stares incredulously, taking a step forward but aborting the movement halfway through. “How could you think that I don’t?”

They are coming dangerously close to a topic that Tony does not ever want to discuss with Steve; too much history with Captain America and Starks, too much bitterness and endless disappointment. They would truly be better off to never touch this at all.

“Yes, yes.” Tony straightens, putting on a careless mask usually reserved for press conferences, and waves dismissively. “It’s your responsibility to take care of the team, yadda yadda.”

That did not quite work out as planned, for Steve’s expression does not change. He does not straighten and starts yelling again or marches off in righteous anger. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, looking so frustrated that Tony actually feels bad for a moment.

“I wish you would just accept that, yes, it is my responsibility,” Steve says calmly, reasonably. Convinced but not preaching. “But it’s also – not that.”

“What? Did you hit your head out there? Are you confused?” Tony leans forward in mock-concern. He is deliberately being an arse, but he cannot help it. “Do you know where you are? Don’t have to ask whether you know _who_ you are, since you make sure that no one can ever forget it, not even you.”

Contrary to Tony’s expectation, Steve does not rise to the bait, does not scold him. Instead, he looks incredibly sad for a moment. “Do you really think that?”

“I mean –” Tony trails off, coming up short. Oh, he has a hundred offensive answers ready on his tongue, but he does not know what to do with Steve right now, with that wounded expression and the search for answers of all things when they are usually quite content with just yelling.

“No?” he ends up asking.

“I guess I shouldn’t blame you,” Steve admits quietly, something unreadable on his face that Tony does not actually want to decipher. Nothing good can come of that. “I can be a bit much, I know that.”

Desperate to end this strange conversation where Tony has the feeling that they are both entirely missing the point of the other, he smirks. “If it’s any consolation, I can’t imagine you any other way.” Not giving Steve a chance to answer, Tony claps his hands and turns halfway around to face his desk. “Glad we had this talk,” he says over his shoulder. “Now, if that is all, I need to get back to work. The suit has a couple dents I should take care of.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Steve wincing at that, glancing at the mere heap of scrap metal the suit resembles right now. The Captain does not say anything, does not move either. Convinced that Tony can ignore Steve until he gives up, he walks over to his working space, trying not to lean away from the intensity with which Steve watches him. It is strange, but he is used to have his every move observed. Steve is naturally something different, because Tony wanted so desperately to impress him for so long, but that turned out about as well as Howard had predicted, so Tony should just let it go.

“JARVIS,” Tony prompts nonchalantly, coming to a halt in the very middle of the multitude of holoscreens coming to life around him. The bright blue has him immediately feeling at home. “Show me the damage to the suit.”

A dizzying number of statistics pop up and Tony’s body hurts in response to the assimilated report. True, the damage could be worse – Tony would be a bad engineer if a mere building could destroy his brain child – but the pain of it is still fresh in his mind. Flicking through the lists, he takes note of which repairs he has to prioritize and, minutes later, is satisfied with it. If only he had the time to just tinker with it for a while. There is always room for improvement, which is one of the kinder lessons his father had taught him, but these days he has barely room enough to breathe.

“Great,” he claps again, so only the essential holoscreens remain active, “JARVIS, DUM-E, let’s get going.”

Thinking about which music to play, Tony steps forward only to stop short when he finds Steve still there, half-sitting on the desk Tony has abandoned and watching him with unguarded fascination.

“Wait, are you really going to just stand there?” Tony asks, more than a bit confused. “I admire your dedication to shout at me, truly, but can we just let it go for today? I’ll even tell you I was wrong,” he makes a complicated gesture in the air, twirling the screwdriver he never let go of, “which, for the record, I wasn’t. But if that’ll get me a moment of peace.”

Utterly unimpressed, Steve looks at him, a fairly grave expression building in his eyes. “You won’t have peace if you die on a mission.”

Tony really cannot deal with this now. He does not know what Steve wants from him, and that does not improve his mood at all. “Oh, is that your way of telling me I’m going to hell?” he quips, his eyes narrowed. “Thanks a lot, Cap.”

“I’m – No!” Steve, good man that he is, appears honestly flustered at this suggestion. “You’re not going to hell.”

“Sorry, forgot you’re a believer there,” Tony rolls his eyes. They have had this discussion before, and with Thor nonetheless, although the presence of an actual god has not changed either of their opinions on the topic. “Don’t yell at me for blasphemy too.”

“You’re not going to hell,” Steve repeats firmly like he really needs Tony to understand this. “You’re a good man.”

“Where has this come from now?” Tony frowns, pinching himself with the screwdriver for good measure to be certain he is not dreaming this up. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“You risk your life constantly out there,” Steve argues, like that is not in the job description, like they had not all known what they were signing up for, “how can you believe –”

“Listen, Steve.” Is it so wrong that all Tony wants is some peace and quiet? No discussion about his misdeeds or whatever miserable thing comes after all of this. “Not all of us managed to come into the world as one pure All American package. Some of us do bad things and just because we try to make up for them afterwards doesn’t mean –”

The rest of Tony’s words get drowned by the sudden touch of Steve’s lips against his. He is too stunned to move at first, because that is not usually how it goes. People have always enjoyed yelling at him, with great stamina, and kissing has never played a role in it. But this – Steve’s lips feel almost as desperate as his words earlier but it is only now that Tony can see that. Strangely enough, it does not seem wrong; not even truly surprising.

Then instinct takes over and he reaches out, cups Steve’s neck with a hand to pull him further down. At the same time Steve clasps Tony’s shoulders, afraid maybe that he will disappear into thin air if he does not hold onto him. They move against each other like they have always done so, like they do not clash horribly whenever they meet but like they are made for this. Somewhere in a distant part of Tony’s mind a memory of his younger self has surely stopped breathing, because this is _Steve_ , whom he had admired and resented for most of his childhood, which had only gotten worse when they met on that helicarrier and he mucked up his chance for a first good impression.

Tony wants to draw this out, leans into it with all he has got, ignoring the distinct feeling that this cannot end well. Then again, he would have sworn this could never happen at all, so that shows what he knows.

“Where did this come from?” Tony asks as they part, slightly out of breath but unable to keep his mouth shut. Lately, he only ever feels alive like this when flying.

Ducking his head in something that seems like embarrassment, Steve tries to withdraw but does not fight when Tony holds him back, gently, like a newly built thing he wants to preserve.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over the words. “I shouldn’t have – this was inappropriate. But when you disappeared into that building today – and then it fell and –”

Tony shushes him, wearing a grin that is completely heartfelt for once, filled with excitement. “I shouldn’t get turned on by you telling me off. In truth, it has never occurred to me before, but you truly just put a new perspective on things.” Red tints Steve’s cheeks, making this impossibly situation all the more real. “But honestly, why did you do this?”

Because this is not them, not Tony and Steve, destructive whirlwind of constant arguments. They are heated discussions and artful, instinctive union out on the battlefield. Maybe they could complement each other and – oh, this is what Tony has never dared dream of: him fitting perfectly against Steve’s body, lips tingling and heartbeat wild from something other than anger. And it is not real, _cannot_ be real, because it goes against everything Howard has told him, what the world has taught him.

“Every time you go do something harebrained,” Steve talks right over the roaring of Tony’s mind running wild, just on the tip of throwing himself into a panic, “I think this is it and I’ve missed my chance.”

“Your chance to do what?” Tony asks, growing desperate in his confusion. “You don’t even like me.”

Instead of answering immediately, Steve tilts Tony’s face up gently, ghosting another kiss over his lips. He takes his time, does not rush through the motion but tastes each second as if they are a delight he has waited far too long for and which he will not give up easily again.

“Of course I like you. How couldn’t I?” He then says, like there is nothing to it. Like it is simple to like Tony Stark.

“Because I’m me,” Tony says, unable to hide all of the bitterness. “That’s usually enough for people.”

“Then people are idiots.” Steve’s answer comes promptly, accentuated by a hand trailing Tony’s cheekbone, gentle enough that Tony is not quite sure whether he would feel it at all were he not hyper aware of every small movement right now.

He snorts, the sound caught between amusement and desperation. He does not mind Steve standing this close because he is slightly dizzy and appreciates that Steve could catch him if he fell. For once, his mind is not quite quick enough to make sense of things.

“Tony,” Steve says, drawing him back to the presence, hands firmly on Tony’s shoulder again. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Tony is almost sure now he is making this up. Maybe he fell asleep in the shower, or he never did get out of that building and this is afterlife. Still, he cannot help but ask, “Since when?”

Blushing, Steve smiles. “Since New York. Since you got up after the wormhole and invited us out to shawarma like nothing’s happened.” It cannot be true, because they have been at each other’s throat then and every day afterwards. Surely Tony would have noticed.

“So, that’s what gets you going? Self-sacrifice? Should’ve known it.” Tony’s attempt at joking is weak, and he trails off when Steve glares at him.

“No,” he says sternly. “If it were, would I yell at you every time you put yourself in danger?”

“Well, honestly, you yell at me for everything I do,” Tony offers quietly, despite knowing he deserves it most of the time.

He has become so used to being at the receiving end of Steve’s ire that he is honestly surprised when Steve just shakes his head fondly.

“Because you’re always holding back,” Steve says, although they are all so very cautious with each other. They all have their demons. “We’re friends now, we live together. Why don’t you trust us?” Then, quieter, he adds, “Why don’t you trust me?”

“Trust goes both ways.” Tony is at a loss for what else to say. Trust has never actually been an issue for him, because he thought he knew where he stood with Steve, what to expect, but now he does not.

Steve chuckles quietly, holding him closer for a moment. “I trust you to do the right thing, Tony. I just don’t trust you to always take proper care of yourself.”

That is what Pepper always says and Rhodey implies. Objectively speaking, he knows that they have a point, but that does not stop him from pushing himself. He is a futurist and the future does not come without sacrifice. What he does not know is why Steve would care. Well, that is, if he does not care for Tony, which as it turns out might just be a misconception on Tony’s part.

“Can I kiss you again?” Steve asks earnestly, turning this into something more sombre than Tony is used to. Not sure he can speak without making an inappropriate joke – or send Steve running by reminding him of what a horrible person Tony really is – he just nods, leaning in expectantly as Steve tilts his head down.

Later, he knows, they will have to talk. But for now, he just enjoys being exactly where he is, held safe by Steve’s arms.

* * *

When they go to the communal floor for dinner that night, walking close to each other but otherwise carefully like nothing has happened, Natasha takes one look at them before holding her open hand in Clint’s direction. The archer glares at them, then sighs, pulling out his walled and drops two twenty dollar notes in her hand, which she eyes with gloating satisfaction. She pockets one note and puts the other in front of Bruce’s usual seat, her lips tilting into an almost-smile.

“What just happened?” Tony asks with suspicion clouding his voice. Steve has come to a stop next to him, arms crossed and face clouded with his special brand of disapproval. It is thoroughly strange, Tony thinks, to not be the recipient of that look for once.

“Clint was an idiot for refusing to see that you two were pining for each other,” Natasha explains matter-of-factly, her attention already turned elsewhere as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, “so Bruce and I won the bet.”

“I don’t pine,” Tony exclaims, turning to Steve, expecting to get help from him but is met by a sheepish smile.

“I did,” he says, blushing, “I’m sorry.” The words end in an upwards lilt, turning them into more of a question.

“I can’t believe it,” Tony scoffs, throwing his arms up, “why did no one tell me?” He is fighting very hard against the giddy grin pulling at his lips. Everything is happening way too fast and he does not truly trust this new turn of events yet, but everyone else seems to just take it in stride or outright expected it to happen, so it cannot be that wrong.

“Because you remind us every five minutes that you’re a genius,” Clint smirks, apparently not bitter anymore about the lost bet since this turns out to be very amusing indeed, “It’s surprisingly fun to watch you floundering about.”

“I don’t –”

That is when Bruce comes in, takes one look at them, and chuckles in satisfaction. “Barton,” he says, “you paid up already?”

“Bruce,” Tony all but yells, whirling around and glaring at his traitor friend. “How could you?”

Passing them, Bruce pats Tony’s shoulder with an expression so patronizing that it is clear he is not sorry at all. “Everyone could see it. Even JARVIS asked whether there was something he could do.”

Glaring in the general direction of the next camera, Tony asks, “That true, J?” only to receive no answer, which, in truth, is all the answer he needs. Were he not so flustered, he might even be flattered that JARVIS was trying to look out for him that way.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve says next to him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it, “don’t be too hard on JARVIS, he is only trying to help.”

To hear Steve defending JARVIS is enough to has Tony falling all the harder for him. He just cannot grasp how this has happened. When Steve tugs him forward, he follows willingly. They probably have made enough of a spectacle of themselves for one day.

“Well,” Clint says, grinning broadly as he leans forward. That is enough to stop Tony and Steve in their tracks before they sit down. “I think it’s time for some ground rules. One,” he raises one finger, “if I ever see either of your naked butts, I’m out of here. Two, no making out in public, no _indecent_ activities on the couch and –”

“Clint,” Steve bellows, face a very nice shade of red that Tony already knows he will have a lot of fun replicating, wondering how far down it goes. He also finds himself grinning, because lewd jokes and innuendoes are so much more his metier than figuring out feelings. Enough so that he almost finds himself wanting to hug Clint.

“You should also maybe refrain from going at it in the workshop,” Bruce cuts in, face completely innocent, the very picture of helpfulness. “And don’t even think about coming into my lab.”

Thinking of all the possibilities, Tony’s grin turns even wider but does not comment. “Anything else?” he asks cheerfully, refraining from making any comments for now. All of this is still very surreal.

“Don’t disrupt movie nights,” Natasha adds simply, absentmindedly twirling her knife while barely looking at them, which of course makes her all the more threatening.

At her side, Clint snickers happily, his mouth already open to keep laying into them. Tony can relate, were he on the other side, he would not be able to hold back either.

As it is, he is not too unhappy when Steve turns to him, face still a bright red, and asks, “How about dinner upstairs?”

“We’ll order in,” he promises and, waving his goodbye at the rest of the team, turns around, pulling Steve with him, who has not yet let go of his hand. It feels surprisingly nice.

“And invest in some soundproof walls,” Clint shouts after them, “if you have sex as loud as you are when you are yelling at each other, we don’t want to hear.”

Tony and Steve hurry to the elevator, barely glancing at each other, but as soon as the doors are closed, Tony cannot help but dissolve into laughter. Only a minute later, Steve follows suit. It is somewhat hysterical. He still does not know what has happened, _how_ it has happened, but somehow none of their friends are surprised by it.

“What are you thinking,” Steve asks, once they have calmed down. He sounds uncertain all of a sudden and despite his own misgivings, Tony cannot let that stand.

So he does not say that he thinks Steve is crazy, that there is no way this will work out, that they are too different, that they will spend their time arguing even more than before. He does not say that he has dreamed about being friends with Steve since he was old enough to understand Howard’s constant rants, and that his crush has only gotten worse since actually meeting his childhood hero. He does not say that each insult they sniped at each other hurt, each argument has made him feel more like the failure his father always said he is.

Instead, he turns fully towards Steve and grins full of mischief. “I think,” he says, deliberately slow, “that the downstairs couch has not seen nearly enough action lately.”

For a moment, Steve’s blush deepens again and he glances away, making Tony think he has mucked this up already. Then, however, Steve takes a step into Tony’s personal space, all muscles and heat, and lowers his lips over Tony’s ear.

Hot breath ghosts over his skin as Steve says, “We should get a list of their rules, so we can break each and every one of them.”

Laughing, Tony cannot quite believe he is not dreaming, but Steve feels real when he leans into him, and when they kiss again all unnecessary thoughts flee Tony’s mind, all his doubts and fear. The only thing that stays is Steve. He is sure he can be happy with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think or if you find any mistakes.  
> All the best, and happy holidays.  
> (Also, I finally watched Black Panther last night and now I really want Shuri and Tony to meet, because just imagine what kind of things they could create together!)


End file.
